Speechless
by Mister Fahrenheit
Summary: Never challenge the validity of what Albel Nox tells you. If he says that it's his natural hair color...then it's his natural hair color. But, some people just have to learn the hard way...


**Speechless**

_(((I haven't written an Albel-centric story for a while, which is a shame! I'd like to think of myself as a connoisseur of fine Albel fiction. The only fanfics I've written that I'm actually proud of are Albel fics. Anyway, my favorite story that I've written was about Albel's chance encounter with Peppita…so, I thought it'd be interesting for him to have one with Sophia as well! Enjoy…))) _

There were always those that vehemently glorified and stubbornly insisted upon what they idiotically referred to as 'The Art of Debate'. Albel Nox had long decided that anyone who referred to debate as an 'art' was an absolute moron…something worse than a maggot, if that were at all possible. In fact, the Wicked One also held quite a low opinion of anyone who ever dared use the word 'debate'.

Debate…argument…conflict…war; All of it was essentially the same! All of those words could logically be whittled, shaved, and scraped down to an enlighteningly simple statement…someone disagrees with someone else. To add to this, Albel's peers, though he retched to refer to them as such, seemed to possess the notion of 'right' and 'wrong'. Of course, no one would ever tell themselves that what they believe is wrong. No, no…the individual self must always be right…and the one who that person 'debates' with must be wrong. However, that other person says they are in fact right, and that the initial person is wrong. Realizing this, Albel had realized long ago that 'right' and 'wrong' did not exist. The world was not made of good and evil…it was made of winners and losers.

If you win, you're right. If you lose, you're wrong. Therefore, in a 'debate', attempting to convince the other person that you're right is a futility. Rather, as it is with all conflict, one must make sure that their opponent has absolutely nothing left to say. Leave them speechless…and you win. Win…and you're right. Above all else, to absolutely, positively, doubtlessly defeat someone…you must hammer at their will and wit until all that's left is a speechlessly, painfully numb core of a creature. In a physical altercation, one's intent should be to injure their opponent to the point where they are unable to fight. So, realizing this, Albel had determined that one's intent in a verbal altercation would be to shock someone into absolute silence and leave your enemy without voice to protest any longer.

"…That _can't _be your natural hair-color…"

"It is."

Albel had been under the impression that there was absolutely nothing he could possibly hate more than Fayt Leingod. Oh…if only he'd realized just how wrong he'd been for thinking so! No…the amateur's otherworldly friends were even worse. Fayt, it turned out, was only the reigning maggot atop a writhing, dripping, undeniably nauseating pile of soil-swallowing worms. Fayt was, by a wide margin, nowhere near the worst of the grubs. No…the fattest, most disgusting, brutally toxic worm of them all…was Sophia Esteed.

"…How'd you ever manage to dye it that color…umm…colors?"

"I didn't dye it."

She didn't like him. It was understandable. After all, Albel didn't like her too much either. But, of course, she was far too weak-willed outwardly say it. In the very least, when Fayt had a problem he had the gall to swell out his chest and stand against the almighty Albel the Wicked. Albel could respect that. He didn't like it…but he respected it…not that he'd ever admit it. After all, a respectable maggot was just as easily squashed underfoot.

Sophia, however, was of the indirect sort. She had little problem in directly keeping her fellow pus-worms in line…but with Albel, she had the habit of acting hostile only enough to let Albel know that she wasn't fond of him, while simultaneously keeping a sugary-sweet smile reserved for the mechanical 'Awwww, she's so sweet!' replies of her other comrades.

Oh, how he'd prefer for her to simply challenge him to a duel or something of that sort. But no…she made quick comments…angrily puffed out her cheeks while clinging parasitically to Fayt's arm…and, of course, made charmingly 'innocent' comments about his hair…requesting fashion tips and details about the proper application of 'mouse'…whatever that was…

"Come on…don't be selfish! You have to tell me how to make my hair look like that!"

"I was _born _like this, you stupid trollop!"

She gave a wispy huff, actually taking a stance…possessing the raw nerve to grab the Wicked One by the shoulder and stop him in his tracks. Her fingers fanned outward, dancing to the tune of her attitude and pressing daringly to her hips. She stood upon the tips of her toes in a vain attempt to compensate for her short stature…still unable to glare at her opponent nose-to-nose.

"Hmph! Stop lying! There's absolutely no way that your hair could naturally be two completely different colors! Honestly…I didn't think that someone who's supposed to be a soldier could be so…so…so vain!"

…Albel could've gone on some intellectual tangent…challenging the girl with the fact that an Elicoorian, while similar, was still different from her own kind. Of course, it had already been predicted that she'd challenge back with the fact that she'd never seen or heard of anyone else on this planet with such a peculiar hair-color. Then, the quality of the 'debate' would simply deteriorate…melt down into the nonsensical, viscous ooze that it truly was…and he would never win. No…the only to win in anything was to make absolutely sure that your opponent had nothing else to say…

The Wicked One said nothing as his natural hand wrapped its digits about the girl's shoulder, coiling in with a painful tightness as he led her away. She whined in protest, meek fists pounding gently against the stronger individual's back. The rest of the group quickly took notice, Fayt in particular stammering and beginning to walk forward…only to be stopped by a quick, "This'll only take a moment! Any maggot that crawls in this direction is getting their throat slashed out!"

Albel and the protesting Sophia disappeared for only a few scarce moments, hidden from view behind one of Airyglyph's lovely frost-coated, half-dead trees. There was a pause…an awkward, mind-choking silence…only to be broken by an effeminate gasp from behind the tree's cover.

It was only a few seconds later that Sophia nervously shuffled back into the safety of the group, hands clenched tensely and held to her chest…round cheeks flushed a dark, throbbing red. Albel followed shortly thereafter, lips curled into a sickeningly satisfied grin, tongue dragged arrogantly across the tips of his teeth. Fayt was the first one to speak up…

"…S-…Sophia? What hap-"

"It's his natural hair-color! Just! Don't! Ask!"

_(((I...think I'll let the reader decide what Albel did to convince her. Muhahaha...)))_


End file.
